Here I stare,
into a mirror,
made of broke pieces.
I put on a fake smile,
as I practice every night,
no one knows the difference.
My eyes,
full of melancholy,
stare back at me.
The dark pupils swim with ghosts,
that haunt me.
I wonder, 'ghosts of sadness, why do you taunt me?'
These ghosts trap me,
I cannot escape;
I fear I'll die here.
I wonder,
'will I ever break free
from this mad toture?'
Unfortunately I think not,
for the ghosts of our pain
will feed on my fear like vultures.
YOU ARE READING
Dark Poems
PoesíaIt's funny how when you stub your toe, ot hurts like hell. But it when you slide a blade against your wrist, thigh, stomach, etc., it makes you feel good.